A blogging wife and mom living the missionary life in Salerno, Italy

A Nomadic Love Story….Part Thirteen, An Expedition

Luckily for me, Paul’s mom has a great sense of humor and my first impression was not as bad as I thought it had been.

Paul spent the next few days introducing me to his hometown of Simsboro and the town his parents now live in, Ruston. I met friends, grandparents, saw his alma mater, and ate at some local hangouts. I liked seeing this part of him – where he grew up and all the people who mattered so much to him.

I had been so worried about being accepted and welcomed by his family and what I found was a set of open arms…actually more than a set when you count all the grandparents.

My sister had held off my niece’s birthday party so that I could be there so we had leave Louisiana after a few days in order to get to Mississippi.

We got there a day or two before the party, and Paul met the rest of my family and was introduced to Scrabble in the Montague house. To his credit he won the first game – and boldly put the score sheet with his score circled on the fridge. It might possibly still hang there.

Saturday was a dreary, rainy day and everyone had left the house except us and my brother, Cade, who was leaving shortly. I went to get a shower so Paul and I could go to town. After a long, hot shower and dressing, I opened the bathroom door and saw a note hanging on the opposite wall. I was instructed to go around the house in search of boxes, and after finding each box I had to open it and read what was inside.

Ooo…a treasure hunt! I was excited about the expedition and immediately set out. I could dry my hair later. What I found in every increasingly smaller box were notes to me from different family members and friends. The waterworks started and didn’t stop but instead increased steadily with every box I found. I finally found Paul sitting on the couch in the living room reading his Bible, patiently waiting for me to arrive.

The last box contained a note from Paul. (A side note here: Paul had told me very early in our relationship – all of three months prior – that he would not tell me he loved me unless he was asking me to marry him. Having had my heart crushed with those simple three words earlier in life I appreciated that.) Paul’s note ended with, “I finally get to say….” I couldn’t believe it. I was going to hear the words that I had long been wanting to sayto him.

I sat down by him on the couch. He told me all kinds of pretty, nice things that made me cry even more. Then he pulled out the final, smallest box. He opened it for me, pulling out the coveted black velvet box. Getting on one knee if front of me he told me he loved me and asked me to marry him.